Thursday, July 20, 2006
The entrance of Kenton
Another entry in my Auntie Book:
Kenton Douglas Miller
July 14, 2006
9 pounds
20 1/2 inches
Anxiety excitement, longing. The feeling of doom or expectation--like the stale quiet before a storm. A fateful Rook game that never was. A fateful mixed drink the existence of which unfortunately could not be doubted or denied. Torn between duty and an unnamed desire to know, to see, to feel. A long, hot day. The sun bearing down on a playground that served as the necessary distraction. The sun was to serve as a metaphor of a woman bearing down determinedly--giving a child safe passage--birth.
Two children: One wants a pink baby, the other no doubt would have chosen a blue one if he had been asked. They both were granted their wish. Kenton was blue, then he was pink. His mother objects to "Kenny." So do I. I shall call him Mr. Kenton for now. The baby sceams--no, he screaches. But he looks so sweet when he is sleeping. Long fingers, deep nail beds--manifestations of our Kenton. He is long all over.
Kenton Douglas Miller
July 14, 2006
9 pounds
20 1/2 inches
Anxiety excitement, longing. The feeling of doom or expectation--like the stale quiet before a storm. A fateful Rook game that never was. A fateful mixed drink the existence of which unfortunately could not be doubted or denied. Torn between duty and an unnamed desire to know, to see, to feel. A long, hot day. The sun bearing down on a playground that served as the necessary distraction. The sun was to serve as a metaphor of a woman bearing down determinedly--giving a child safe passage--birth.
Two children: One wants a pink baby, the other no doubt would have chosen a blue one if he had been asked. They both were granted their wish. Kenton was blue, then he was pink. His mother objects to "Kenny." So do I. I shall call him Mr. Kenton for now. The baby sceams--no, he screaches. But he looks so sweet when he is sleeping. Long fingers, deep nail beds--manifestations of our Kenton. He is long all over.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Saturday, July 01, 2006
The sage speaks
Yet another Joelism:
"Do you mind?" I asked audaciously, and giggled as I wiped my hands gleefully on Joel's shirt-sleeve. My hands were quite wet and grimy after my run-in with the depths of Davy Jones Locker you see.
"I don't mind," said the incorrigable fiend, and went on to explain, "ask my wife--she'll tell you that I never mind." His eyes twinkled in such a manner that I could not help but laugh.
Some days later this same gentleman informed me that he minds none but his mother.
Hmph. I don't believe a syllable of it, and neither should you.
"Do you mind?" I asked audaciously, and giggled as I wiped my hands gleefully on Joel's shirt-sleeve. My hands were quite wet and grimy after my run-in with the depths of Davy Jones Locker you see.
"I don't mind," said the incorrigable fiend, and went on to explain, "ask my wife--she'll tell you that I never mind." His eyes twinkled in such a manner that I could not help but laugh.
Some days later this same gentleman informed me that he minds none but his mother.
Hmph. I don't believe a syllable of it, and neither should you.
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